


20. Christmas List

by Puellainrotis



Series: December With Crowley And Aziraphale [20]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas Lists, Christmas Presents, Ficlet, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28173270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puellainrotis/pseuds/Puellainrotis
Summary: Crowley writes his Christmas list.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: December With Crowley And Aziraphale [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027860
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9
Collections: Ineffable Holiday 2020





	20. Christmas List

“Did you write your Christmas list, dear?” Aziraphale asked Crowley and the demon looked at him like the angel lost his mind.

“Aren’t we a little too old for writing letters to Father Christmas?” he asked teasingly.

“No, I don’t think we are, actually,” Aziraphale pouted.

“We can just tell each other what we want, can’t we?”

“That we certainly can,” the angel agreed, “but writing Christmas lists is a part of the Christmas magic, you see.”

“Is it?” Crowley asked. “You know I really don’t like writing, angel. Y'know, my eyes are all weird with letters,” he made a vague gesture with his hand towards his eyes. They were really bad. Crowley’s sense of sight wasn’t perfect to begin with, but as far as simple seeing went, he was okay. His vision was a bit blurry but that was that. But when it came to reading and writing, Crowley suffered. It was annoying, really, just how serpentine his eyes were sometimes. It was like having a bad case of dyslexia. It took him decades to properly learn to read and writing was even worse. It was certainly a stressful time for the both of them when Aziraphale started teaching him to write sometime in the sixteenth century.

“I know but I don’t want you to write a novel, Crowley. Just a few sentences will do. You can manage that, can’t you?”

“Yeah, fair. Yeah, I can do that,” the demon muttered and stood up from the sofa.

“Where are you going?” Aziraphale asked, confused.

“To write the letter,” Crowley replied casually.

“Oh.”

Crowley went to another room and closed the door behind himself. He miracled a paper, a pen and an envelope and then he sat behind the desk.

“Okay”, he grinned to himself as he picked up the pen.

And then, he started writing in the most child-like and wobbly handwriting he could manage. Which wasn’t really that hard because even his natural handwriting was far from the neat and visually pleasing letters all adults except for him seemed to have.

You want me to be childish, I’ll be childish, he thought.

Dear Father Christmas,

I want skinny jeans by Versace, and several Oakley sunglasses – black. Somebody knows I go though sunglasses really fast. Then I'd like you to get me Variegated Monstresa Delicosa. Let me tell you, Father Christmas, that thing is a beauty, but it’s not cheap. And if you can get me some other rare and beautiful plant, possibly an illegal one, that would be really awesome as well.

The letters were bouncing around, they were unevenly spaced and Crowley even made a point of leaving a few ink spots and smudges on the paper to enhance the small kid visual.

He even miracled himself some coloured pencils and drew a kid-style drawing of a Christmas tree with boxed presents underneath the text. He looked at his work and smiled, satisfied with how it looks.

He grabbed the pen again and added one last sentence underneath the picture:

...just kidding. Celebrating with you after all those years is all I really want, Aziraphale.

This sentence was in Crowley’s usual handwriting, which made it a little – but not much – less wobbly.

He then placed the short letter inside the envelope and licked it to activate the glue.

A disgusted grimace formed on his face. The glue was really not tasty, especially not for his overly sensitive serpent-like tongue.

He walked out of the door with a smug smile on his face and Aziraphale looked up from the book he was reading.

“Already?” he asked, surprised.

“Yup. ‘S not long,” he said.

“Oh.”

He gave the envelope to Aziraphale with a grin.

“Enjoy your reading.”


End file.
